


young god

by sweggscellent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Gen, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweggscellent/pseuds/sweggscellent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” Oikawa says, “I used to think I was in love with you.” Oikawa’s voice is low and dark as he noses gently into the soft hair at Kageyama’s temple. “And then you just had to go and fuck it all up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	young god

**Author's Note:**

> i love the angst  
> follow me on [tumblr](trashcollect.tumblr.com)

He’s felt those eyes on him since Seijou’s team waltzed in.

Throughout the entire match, Kageyama has tried staunchly to ignore Oikawa’s smug grin, that dangerous gleam in his eyes, his very presence. There’s always been that unrelenting writhing in his chest when he’s so much as in the same room as the other boy, that kind of twist he can’t place.

( _that kind of twist he is unwilling to name._ )

Seijou wins, of course -- _Oikawa_ wins, really, has always won where Kageyama is concerned. It’s a practice match, shouldn’t shake Kageyama down to the marrow like it does, but he can’t ignore the static in his fingertips when the final scorecard is flipped to 25 on Seijou’s side, can’t ignore the red encroaching on the edges of his vision when he hears the other team cheering. His palm feels cold when it brushes Oikawa’s under the net. He does not make eye contact.

The only one who seems concerned with Kageyama’s silence once they’re leaving the locker rooms is Suga; he doesn’t ask, but Kageyama can feel those warm eyes drifting to him every few moments while Daichi is delivering his post-loss pep speech outside. He probably knows it has to do with Oikawa.

He excuses himself to the bathroom before they board the bus back home.

He doesn’t actually need to use the restroom, of course, just craves the solidarity; he stands at a sink and just breathes in, feels the way his ribs quake with each breath he takes.

Kageyama keeps his head bowed and his eyes away from the mirror as he washes his hands. He shuts the faucet off, turns to grab a paper towel, and there he is.

Kageyama hadn’t heard him come in.

Oikawa leans against the wall in front of him, eyes sharp, and Kageyama feels his blood run cold as his cheeks go warm. He can’t feel his fingertips. There’s the ghost of a smirk on Oikawa’s mouth.

“What,” is all Kageyama says, not wanting to be here, in this bathroom, in this city. His heart thrums, and it isn’t a question.

“What yourself, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa snarks, pushing off the wall. He saunters forward until Kageyama’s back is pressed against the wall between two sinks, the chill of the tile seeping through his shirt.

Tension builds in Kageyama’s gut, builds between them until it feels ready to snap, threatens to shatter the world around them, make the lights flicker. Kageyama resigns himself to it, folds under the pressure of Oikawa’s gaze. The few centimeters that separate them, height and distance, manage to feel like an eternity under the fluorescent haze.

“You know,” Oikawa says, “I used to think I was in love with you.” Oikawa’s voice is low and dark as he noses gently into the soft hair at Kageyama’s temple. “And then you just had to go and fuck it all up.”

This comes as no surprise to Kageyama, really, though he has no idea why Oikawa is telling him now. He stands there, spine stiff as he lets Oikawa’s words break over him like waves. He knows Oikawa is trying to rile him up and Kageyama wants to feel scared, but his fist just clenches in static indignation when Oikawa strokes an impossibly gentle hand down his bicep, squeezing lightly.

“What do you want, Tooru?” he tries again, exhausted already, ignoring the way Oikawa doesn’t even flinch at the obvious disrespect. The older boy draws away, stare blank, smirk gone. He watches Kageyama for a long moment, and then,

“Why did you choose Karasuno over Aoba Johsai?”

The question catches Kageyama utterly off guard; Oikawa already knows why he- but wait, that isn’t what Oikawa is asking. They both know Shiratorizawa was the obvious desire for them both, not Seijou.

( _why did you choose karasuno over me?)_

Kageyama doesn’t respond, just drags his eyes stalwartly towards the corner, wills his heartbeat to slow even with Oikawa’s warm breath fanning against his cheek, tries to convince himself he isn’t obligated to give a response.

“You should really answer a question when one is presented to you, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa drawls, and before Kageyama can gather his wits, those infuriatingly soft fingers are on his jaw and turning his head gently so that Oikawa can slot those familiar lips against Kageyama’s own.

He wishes he had the will to press against Oikawa’s shoulders and shove him away, tell him _no_ , because he knows Oikawa would stop if he asked. But instead, Kageyama’s body reacts on instinct and he relaxes into the gesture, trembles under the ministrations.

It was never like this when they were together at Kitagawa Daiichi; then, it was only those loathing stares Oikawa would throw at him, the too-solid high fives, the way Kageyama could feel eyes prickling the back of his neck from across the gym.

But even then, he knew.

( _i used to think i was in love with you.)_

Kageyama wants to ignore the insistent thrum of his heartbeat, loud in his ears, but the soft give of Oikawa’s mouth only serves to amplify it. His eyebrows furrow as he hooks a finger in Oikawa’s collar and kisses him back, forcing himself to remain silent when a tongue brushes against his upper lip.

Kageyama lets him in, like unlocking his front door to a burglar; lets Oikawa take, take, take. There’s a warm hand at the center of Kageyama’s chest, and it feels like if Oikawa tried hard enough, he could push right through Kageyama’s sternum, wrap those long fingers around his spine and tug, disconnect it from his ribs and make Kageyama fall.

Kageyama wouldn’t put that past him.

He slides his hands up the back of Oikawa’s shirt, brave of their own accord, and lets his nails bite into the skin there, drags them down like he’s trying to rip the older boy open.

( _he would, too, knows if they were something else, someplace else, they’d rip each other apart until they were nothing but stripped muscle and throbbing organs, laid bare and rotting_.)

Oikawa huffs against Kageyama through his nose, and then he’s pulling away, mouth separating from Kageyama’s with a quiet, almost-obscene sound, leaving Kageyama - not for the first time - cold and empty. When he curls his hand around Kageyama’s jaw, it feels too warm against Kageyama’s cool skin.

( _i used to think i was in love with you._ )

When Oikawa speaks, that playful shimmer is gone from his brown eyes, leaving them dark and imposing. “You’re never going to be like me,” he hisses, and that’s all it takes; Kageyama wraps his fingers around that thin wrist and throws Oikawa’s hand off him, pushes his way past the older boy, ignores the pain that shoots through his shoulder when he slams it against Oikawa’s.

He storms out of the restrooms, ignores the way tears are softening his vision, tries to erase Oikawa’s words, his very voice from his mind, but it’s all he thinks about the entire ride home.


End file.
